Sticking it to the…er, man

Know what really pisses me off? I'll tell you what really pisses me off: anti-tamper. That’s what really pisses me off!

At least, it’s fair to say I become somewhat annoyed when confronted by a fastener for which I have no sensible tool or method of attack.

In fact, over the years, I’ve collected together a small armoury of what our transatlantic cousins call ‘doodads’ (or maybe that’s just Stewie of Family Guy) – the bent spanners, screwdrivers twisted through impossible angles, sharpened files, bolts with other bits welded on…well, you get the idea. The adapted tools to get you out of a tight corner when your strip-down grinds to a halt cos the best Haynes can suggest is a factory tool part number.

Such a doodad is presented here: the Keihin anti-tamper pilot screw man sticker designed to stick it to emissions regulatory bodies, the reincarnated Triumph and Mr (or possibly Ms) Keihin, manufacturers of carburettors – ‘the man’, all.

Doesn’t look like much but it’s the mechanical manifestation of fuck you…

You’ll remember in an earlier outing at Mondo I mentioned the Hinckley Bonneville Scrambler, a handsome machine that, for various reasons (and in my opinion) was frankly, shit.

Saddled with a pair of Keihin carbs, the bike couldn’t be left for more than a few days without silting up these instruments and refusing to start or else run properly – I’m exaggerating, but only a little… Worse, when attempting to adjust them you’d encounter idle mixture screws located in plugged recesses and then, having prized out the plugs, topped with anti-tamper D-shaped heads requiring a special bit (available, but not in your local tool shop).

I rarely require an excuse to buy a tool of any description but I baulk at the unnecessary necessity of it, if you get my drift. A simple slotted screw would work perfectly and these D-shaped horrors exist only because some git in charge has decided that you can’t add to the world’s store of atmospheric hydrocarbons by messing with the mixture, probably while signing off the document passing it into law in the back of a four-litre limousine with bullet-proof glass.

Fortunately, if your Hinckley Bonnie variant (or Keihin-equipped bike) is stuck for want of a bit of tweaking and you can’t find the necessary tool under ten quid, making one yourself is as easy as acquiring a bit of copper pipe…

…6mm OD copper pipe that is. A few centimetres is all you need so toddle off to B&Q and buy the smallest quantity available. Cut a length about 40mm, slide one end onto the jaws of a pair of needle-nosed pliers and, using a small hammer, tap a flat on one side. Gently does it, cos you want to retain the shape but add a flat thereby creating a D profile.

The finished tool

Squish the other end to give you some means to turn the tool. I drilled the squished end and added a small set screw with a couple of nuts to make using the tool dead easy.

That’s it. Remove the plugs/cappings if they’re in place, shove the tool up the orifice and turn the mixture screws to your heart’s content. I won’t offer likely settings because your bike/experience will differ.

And now it only remains to paint your fuel tank with the stars and stripes and you’ll be just like Captain America, sticking it to the man…

British bulldog and the Terrier

Public libraries.

A useful source of warmth for the homeless, computing time for those working phishing scams while maintaining anonymity, cheap DVD rentals to pass the days for the out-of-work and drug-addled, and a source of employment and social interaction for terminally unmarriageable wallflowers of both sexes.

“To the library, chaps!”

Oh, and some of ’em have a few books. Not that anyone under 50 is interested (except maybe women working their way though a mountain of chick-lit).

The central library in my town is, perhaps, better than most in that it has more than a few (books not women) and some of them are actually relatively recent – there's even a new one here and there. For a lifelong fan of libraries it's a breath of fresh air (yes, according to my entries at Mondo I'm pretty much a lifelong fan of everything). What it means is that every now and then it's possible to rummage among the shelves and find something that you haven't previously read and which is sufficiently intriguing to fish out your library card.

Cover dreadful, contents whimsical and
without coherent plot but a fun read for all that

Such a one is Travelling With Mr Turner (Panther Publishing, 2011) by Nigel C Winter.

The cover looks like it was chucked together by someone for whom a John Bull Printing Outfit would be impossibly over-technical and the text setting within strictly amateur hour. The images are too small and blighted by moire rendering them largely indiscernible and yet… And yet it has a home-brew charm that’s hard on the eye but satisfyingly rewarding if you stick with it – a bit like wanking with a picture of Miranda (or Gandhi if you happen to be female).

Sorry, I'm blathering. It looks like shit, is obscure and has no discernible plot, yet it holds your interest in such a way that turning the page and reading on is inevitable. Remember watching Gregory's Girl? Other than seeing the gloriously sexy Claire Grogan (albeit depicted as a rank and unappealing teenager), you wonder why the fuck you're watching and yet still you watch on…

Needless to say I checked it out and took it home. Since then I've read the book several times over the years and enjoyed it immensely despite its many faults of presentation.

In a nutshell then, motorcycling solicitor Nigel, sets off on a pilgrimage to recreate a journey first enjoyed by Triumph big-wigs MD Edward Turner, Works Director Bob Fearon and Chief Designer Alec St John Masters during a bid to publicise the company's new 150cc Terrier motorcycle (a little four-stroke sloper that would eventually become the Tiger Cub). With surprisingly spartan back-up and outfits that’d be hard pressed to retain warmth during high summer in the West Indies, the trio embark on a Land’s End-John O’Groats bike ride endearingly known as The Gaffers' Gallop. Some time later they complete their journey, Terrier publicised, job done.

Esso lends a hand

Similarly, but with suitably wistful middle-aged pontificating on 1. Age 2. Motorcycles Old and New 3. The State of the Country 4. Everything Else in Between, Nige returns home having pretty much followed in Ted's footsteps.

Throughout, there are (albeit poorly reproduced) pics of Nigel's Hinckley Triumph Thunderbird 900, pertinent landmarks and various of the gaffers.

Ted grins and bears it

There’s Ted for example, looking for all the world like an irascible motorcycling Billy Bunter in an outfit specified – and probably knitted – by his mother. A cut-price post-war Churchill from modest antecedents and none the worse for that. Good for an amusing story over a glass of whisky (but not whiskey), with firm views on Rhodesia, and sex with the lights out strictly intended to fulfil the requirement to procreate while satisfying the implied terms of the Anglican wedding vows.

Absolutely then, a man borne of his age.

But back to the book. Any good? Yes, though not quite worthy of the lavish hyperbole dished out in the many Amazon reviews (to paraphrase Not the Nine O’Clock News): “I would willingly sell my house and all its contents to assist Nigel in writing another of his truly magnificent books, he is by far and away Britain’s best author ever…” being typical. Yeah. You decide.

Try going there now without paying the exorbitant ‘entrance’ fee…

Buy or borrow? The latter initially, but with a view to the former if you happen to have a few quid spare after splurging on a whore and the DVD release of And Mother Makes Three (oh Wendy Craig, you bad, bad girl…).

One tip: choose the Kindle over the conventional edition, image reproduction is vastly superior.

You can visit the author's own website dedicated to the book of the ride of the Esso documentary of the publicity stunt here and you can also see a number of pics of Nigel's dad doing what dads did aboard their motorcycles in the 1950s here

The Black Rider – all aboard for derring-do in deepest Dorset!

It's 1953 and America is thrilling to, and not a little disgusted by, the gloriously anarchic, devil-may-care outlaw bikers as depicted in The Wild One, all dusty open roads, Perfecto black leather, hep jive talk and road captain hats worn at dangerously rakish angles.

Banned in Britain of course. Our roads are damp or frosty even in summer, leather is largely for the patched shoulders of roadmenders' donkey jackets, road captain hats are for bus conductors and we don't like 'slang' at any price, especially not the transatlantic variety, and those who try it come off as agonisingly awkward and uncomfortable (presaging British porn of 50 years or so later).

What we do have in common is a love of motorcycles and especially, but not exclusively, the Triumph variety. So fast forward a year to 1954 and here's the Brit answer to biker movies: The Black Rider, a pale and sickly cousin if ever there was one, featuring a sprinkling of c-list contract players of the day (with Lionel Jeffries and Kenneth Connor in early roles the exceptions), a thin plot about spies and miniature atom bombs guarded by a ghostly monk astride a BSA Bantam and a 'handsome' leading couple mounted on a lovely Triumph twin.

"I say Jerry, that's a damn fine mount", "Thanks old boy,
and the bike's none too shabby either!"

In fact, the movie's not half bad and anyone nostalgic for a lost era of helmetless ’50s outings will certainly spend an enjoyable 90 minutes in the company of cub reporter (and erstwhile army dispatch rider) Jerry Marsh as he foils the unpleasant plans of a lot of beastly foreigners bent on mischief with remotely-triggered atom bombs.

Set in the fictional Swanhaven, the locations are actually Swanage, Purbeck and Corfe Castle in Dorset and there's plenty of biking action including classic 1950s club trials and gymkhanas and a lovely insight into the 'compete sunday, ride to work monday' ethos of the day, when the luxury of two bikes was an impossible dream and you simply used your road-going machine with an entrant number stuck over the headlamp. Oh, for a return to what our American cousins cheerfully call: 'run what you brung'!

The glorious English countryside…

…and motorcycles, what could be better?

"Spotted any bleeding-heart tree-huggers Bert?" "Not this morning Sid,
I'd give it about another 50 years..."

"I'm afraid I've run over a few dozen small animals and decimated the
wild flower population Sid…" "Don't you worry about that Fred,
it's all good clean fun!"

The movie features a range of bikes including an Enfield Meteor, various Triumphs, BSAs, AJSs and Ariels, an Excelsior Villiers 250cc twin, and two scooters which I'm guessing are Douglas-built Vespas.

Douglas Vespa and Excelsior twin side by side

Egg & spoon race ’cycle style

There are some interesting registrations to be seen too including a brace of Warwickshire WDs on consecutively-numbered machines PWD17 (Jerry's Triumph) and PWD18, and a sprinkling of Birmingham OCs and OKs.

Jerry and his MC club chums prepare to foil Johnny Foreigner's wicked ways

Watch it here

NB Thanks to the forum members at Enfield parts supplier Hitchcock's for locating the source of the movie.